Sheeped
by WeezelWerks
Summary: When life turns you into a sheep, you do what anyone would do. Get even! Follow Lax, the recently converted sheep in his quest to once again become bipedal. Warning: laughing hard may cause shortness of breath and a dry heave. Please do not sue.
1. Chapter 1

They say there is no greater glory than to serve the Alliance, and entering the service is the greatest and most rewarding job any living being can have. It is honor and pride that keeps you hard at work, knowing that every day brings you closer to a free, wonderful, and peaceful world.

Well _screw _that.

So far, my enlistment pretty much consisted making sure the idiots in Elwynn Forest didn't get themselves meat grinded by murlocs. _God_, I hate those things. Whatever deity who art in The Twisting Nether thought that one up should have been the first to try and escape a group of them, underwater, with stones tied to their limbs.

But back to my "honorable services." At least twice a day, some violence freak from Northshire Abbey (guess what direction that's in) would leave a perfectly good village to go hunt for murloc fins in a dark and spooky lake. What these fins do, I have no freakin' clue-some guy outside the blacksmith's shop keeps telling all of the newcomers that it was vital to the safety of Stormwind that we kill the murlocs, _all_ of them, and never mind that damn plague that completely wiped out our civilization to the north and turned an empire into a rotting and festering world full of zombies. One must have priorities, after all. I'm sure that any day now the fishes with legs will surge forward and, bristling with primitive spears and gleaming their large fangs, wait outside the damn gate, because anyone with half a mind would figure that a bunch of fish out of water cant chew their way through solid iron bars a Tauren warrior cant break with a sword the size of Dwarven Brewery. It still amazes me how they _breathe._

So, anyway, let me introduce myself to you. I'm Lax, and the first person to say "we know" gets a friendly boot up the tush. I'm going to share my…er…_experience_ with you over the next couple of hours. Just sit back while I tell it like it is.

I was receiving orders from Marshall Dugan in Goldshire before the incident. Rather, I should say I was trying to _comprehend_ the orders, because I'm sure that man has spent way too much time wherever he was stationed before. Day and night, he just stands there, never changing his expression or flinching at all. I have a feeling if the Horde decided to dust off the good ol' village; he'd be standing there, outside the ruins of the blacksmith while the town burns. Maybe we can steal his supply of murloc fins to make a giant scaly wall, except it would probably smell worse than an envoy back from Booty Bay. Seriously, people, fish is _not_ an attractive smell.

Anyway, he was ordering me to go stand guard by the lake, in case of a "murloc invasion" I think. It's been a long time since he's gotten some sleep, so the words kind of sounded like "Guh lok fu di 'locs Lax." He kept trying to nod off.

Standing on the pier leading off of the shore I remained vigilant by trying to reflect light onto the dock so it would explode in flames, ending my misery. It was a while into this, after the wood had started to get nice and hot, did a Gnome mage show up and dive, unrelenting, into the water. Springing into action, I finished the last of my Deeprun Rat Kabob, the only ration given to me in six weeks. There was no way I was diving into a freezing lake wearing full armor to chase after some fairy-power enhanced midget, sorry. Upon reflection, I should have taken the time to drown myself.

So here I was, on the pier, minding my own business, when a _humongous_ bubbling starts about five yards off the end of the dock. Since I'm definitely not an idiot, I did what any brave soldier of the Alliance would do: I got off the friggin' pier.

After I was safely…safe, I turned around and saw the Gnome again, soaking wet, climbing onto the dock. He looked worried, to say the least, and I briefly considered a course of action. Then I considered running. I decided to go with the better idea.

The Gnome was on the dock now, sprinting as fast as his tiny little legs could carry him. Then I saw what was behind him and forgot all about Ol' Shorty.

About a hundred murlocs were chasing this guy with vigor usually associated with after-season-price-slash-sales in the Trade District of Stormwind. These things were _rarin'_ to go. The dock was falling apart (or, hell, being eaten for all I know) as they progressed. I had enough attention to look at the little guy retreating, and saw him waving his hands around in the air. Well, he was a mage, maybe he might freeze them in place or some funky voodoo like that.

After a quick bit of consideration, I made a decision that would _definitely_ affect the rest of my love life. But first, let me explain; these fishy things _can learn magic._ Let me express that at the time I did not know this, or else I wouldn't (well, maybe) have done this. As the Gnome was running towards me, chanting and waving his hands, he turned around quickly to backtrack and direct the end of the spell at the invading…invaders. I chose this moment, to, with all my strength, give the little guy a punt so powerful in the rump he almost got stuck to my boot.

And here's where things get tricky. He wasn't casting a freezing spell; the little guy was trying to freakin' _sheep_ 'em. When I gave him the boot, let us say he was momentarily distracted, so when the spell went lose, he didn't quite get enough power into it to make it un-counterable. One of those fish magicians (I still don't believe it) apparently countered the spell, and sent it back to him.

The result being, since I was in contact with the caster, the spell had the same effect on both of us. For the layman, let me just say for one moment there was a man punting a gnome into a lake, and the next, a sheep sailing through the air over the heads of carnivorous man-fishes, with an equally confused but much less pained sheep standing at the beginning of his flight, one leg raised.

_This_ the murlocs didn't expect. They just kind of stood there, until, thank god, the mage, being wise in the ways of magic, fixed the situation.

"Baa?" He bleated.

This turned the murloc's attention to him, and, diving back into the lake, the fishes were rewarded a taste of mutton. I thank him for his selfless act.

Now, I'm not dumb. Really. When life turns you into a sheep, you do what anyone would do.

I think my voice gave out from that much panicked bleating after the first four hours.

Heading back to Goldshire, hoping no one or nothing was hungry, I tried to assess the situation in my head. Problem with that of course, is, I'm a friggin' sheep. This ain't your everyday run-of-the-mill problem. But I did reach one rational decision, on that long walk.

I was _definitely_ taking the rest of the damn day off.


	2. Chapter 2

Walking with four legs is a pain. Trust me. Just trying to get back to the road to Goldshire took all my concentration, and half the time I landed a face-plant right in the dirt. Thank god no one saw me; I musta' looked like a walking cotton ball just back from a frat party. When I actually got to the road things became easier, in the sense that when I fell, instead of cushioning dirt to protect my head, packed mud and bricks were at the end of my fall, making me unable to reasonably make any decisions. Thank god again. I would have given up and just laid there, a fuzzy speed bump for passing wagons.

What took me two minutes to travel that morning was instantly turned into an intense thirty minute balancing extravaganza. I took all the extra time to mentally curse mages and murlocs, for ever and ever. If I had seen one that day, uncoordinated or not, I would have become Hellsheep The Vicious and bit the living crap out of his ankles. Legends would be passed on of Hellsheep to all those who visit Elwynn. Man, I could become a freakin' tourist attraction before the day was up.

I got outside of Goldshire, finally. Unfortunately, I doubt anyone has ever had the same predicament, so I didn't have a friggin' clue what I was gonna do. I spent a couple of minutes tripping and bleating at random hoping to get some attention, sometimes barreling into people and knocking them down. After I got quite a few people pissed, I decided to try good ol' Marshall Dugan for help.

After telling me that I needed to collect murloc fins, and warning me of the upcoming invasion, I will say I had a little rage. I may be a sarcastic, cynical being, but I've learned how to correctly vent my anger in a correct and acceptable fashion.

I got him right under the shinguard, where the boot comes up a little short. Let the teeth marks there be a testament to all quadruped herbivores everywhere when I say, guys, I feel your pain. The following scene resulted in Stormwind guards chasing me, swords drawn, yelling "Demon sheep!" over and over. Since my walking abilities were a little under par, I settled for hopping alternately with my front and back legs. First person to call that "prancing" will wake up tomorrow next to a conveniently placed dead spider.

I lost em' in a passing flock of sheep. Anyone who could have picked me out of that crowd needs to find some type of companionship, your species or otherwise, _now._ No one should ever be able to differentiate between two completely white sheep and live. I laid low for a bit, and tried my hand at grazing. The first few mouthfuls were okay, I guess. I remember wishing for a steak.

Heading back to Goldshire, with the completely oblivious Marshall standing guard, was not a problem. The guards weren't going to slay every sheep that wandered into a town, I'm sure someone cares about them. A lot of people were going into the inn, so I followed. No one found it odd that a sheep just walked into the inn. God I hate this place.

Everyone in the inn was heading upstairs. I was going to head that way too, until I saw someone heading for the back room. He was dressed in a dark cloak, held a dark staff, and was just essentially a dark person, besides the fact of being lighter-skinned then a…sheep. Common sense dictated not to head anywhere near that guy, for any reason, but unfortunately for all of us, no one in that damn town _has_ common sense. The butcher from the cutting room in the back came up. If you saw a live sheep in an inn, standing around the common room, one would not assume that would be the evening meal, mainly for the reason it is still breathing. The butcher took one look at all the people, then a look behind him, presumably into the cutting room, and picked me up from the ground, and before I could bleat a protest, had me in the back room. Try not to analyze that sentence; it will give you nightmares if misinterpreted.

I decided halfway through my flight that I was _not_ going to go quietly. I majestically left his arms (after biting the crap out of his arms) and fell straight down the stairs that led to the cellar. Imagine a snowball rolling down a hill, gaining momentum. Now imagine that snowball being very confused and bleating. Then take a break, because some things should never have been imagined in the first place.

Remember good old Dark n' Spooky? Yeah, he was there. He was also a warlock too, apparently. First thing he did, quick as a cat, was to curse me. Now I was confused, scared, cursed, pissed, frustrated, and above all, sheeped. If you told me the highlight of my day was learning to walk straight, I would have laughed in your face. I dunno what curse he cast, 'cept for some reason all my bleating was discombobulated. It sounded like I was speaking through a straw packed full of mud, underwater with a rope around my throat and cotton balls in my esophagus. Not the loveliest sound.

The butcher took one look at Spookums and, like any sane being would, left. Maybe they're not all as dumb as I thought they were.

Well, here I was, in a dark cellar with Tall, Dark, and Scary. Typical cellar. No happiness in cellars, nope. Rats and cobwebs, the best decorations to remind you of everything that has ever made you jolt upright in bed at two in the morning. Anyway, he didn't instantly kill me, which is good, but looked at me curiously, which is bad. I've already had a bad day with magic, thanks. I'll be fine without it for quite a while.

"I wonder…" he said. Perfect. Don't freakin' explain yourself or anything, dude. Just let the sheep have a panic attack on the floor, don't mind him.

"Damnit" I expressed.

I don't know why this shocked him. I mean, to him he must have only heard bleating, right? Or my lovely throat noise, whatever curse that was.

"What's wrong?" he asked curiously. Great. I get the bozo who thinks he can talk to sheep.

"You try being a damn sheep" I said, uselessly. I to this day, don't even know why I said it.

But oh boy was he excited. Hell if I know why.

"What's wrong with being a sheep?" he asked.

My turn to lose my mind. I recapped the entire day, trying to explain what was going on. First I'm a sheep, and I wander across someone who talks to sheep. Maybe that Rat Kabob had gotten to me.

I responded the only way I knew.

Meaning, of course, I passed out. Who wants to deal with all that at once?


	3. Chapter 3

I woke up the same damn cellar. If you saw a sheep lying down in the middle of a floor in a cellar, wouldn't you at least make some attempt to move it, or at least find out why it was there in the first place?

I would have opened my eyes but based on today's previous activities I decided whatever was out there could wait a little bit. This obviously wasn't my day. If I looked around and found, say, a demon standing right in front of me, breathing heavily with spikes and bristles coming out of its flesh, I definitely would've lost it. But still, I had to take a look sometime, right? Might as well do it sooner than later, before someone decided mutton was on the menu.

A demon was standing right in front of me, breathing heavily with spikes and bristles coming out of its flesh.

Yeah, I lost it.

The next couple of minutes are still a blur, as I sprinted around the cellar, knocking over barrels and boxes and generally creating a gigantic mess. This was completely unnecessary, though. The demon didn't even freakin' flinch anyway; I just had to feel better. What I wouldn't have given for a cigarette and a club to the head at that moment.

I got tired after a while, I think. Walking was still pretty hard, so I was settled again for hopping. You all should know my "prancing" rule by now. Anyway, it only takes so long to get me pooped, and since the demon wasn't even moving at all, except for its breathing, I stopped.

Dark n' Spooky was on the floor. I musta knocked him over while I was throwing my hissy fit 'cause a big ol' keg was lying on top of him, and he just didn't look like a drinking man to me. I would've left him there, but he _did_ talk to me before, and a guy with the ability to talk to sheep is either someone you pay close attention to or hang immediately, depending on whether your town hasn't hanged anyone out of spite in a while. Since hanging was off of my list of "Do's" for a while, I settled for pushing the keg off of him and, in a friendly manner, climbed on top of the overturned keg and jumped on his stomach. The Amazing Cottonball strikes again!

With a "hoof" he sat up and I was rebounded back to the floor. The demon at the other end of the cellar ran up beside him and snuggled into his arm like a sheep. I would like to take this time to mention that if I ever snuggled up against someone, it would be because I had recently been drenched in oil and set alight, and my dying gesture would be to make sure a tax collector shared the same fate.

Spooky McSpookerson in the corner there patted the demon on the head, and I actually got a chance to look at the thing without it being close enough to my face to resuscitate me mouth-to-mouth style. It kinda looked like a dog, except there was no way in hell I would let this thing live in my house. It had no eyes, which is wrong. It was spiky, which is wronger. It had black and red…fur?...covering it, with two enormous bone looking things coming out of its shoulder blades, which is the absolute wrongest. And Marshall Dugan was worried about _murlocs_. Anything with the ability to gouge out my eye just by flexing its' shoulders was number one on my fear-o-meter.

He looked at me, in all my puffy wonder, and said, politely, "Who are you?"

We know this dude talks to sheep. Why the hell not? "Lax. My name, I mean. Who the frick are you?"

He regarded me for a moment. I swear to God, if he didn't stop this mystical pausing at the end of every sentence one of us would leave the cellar with half an eyeball. Then I saw Fido and got my priorities straight in a hurry.

"I am Maur, the warlock" he motioned to the loveable wad of hell next to him. "This is my demon-pet, Fpshk."

Now, _that's_ funny. There's not even a damn vowel in that word. Still, Fishk, or whatever, could probably eat me for breakfast, even when I wasn't a sheep, so I tried to stifle my laughter. If you try this, I do not suggest you try it while sheepinated. It does not sound right.

"Nice to meet you, Fhikish" I said with the clear clarity of a gargling frog being sat on by an Ogre. How pleasant. When Finnish didn't reply, or bark, or whatever, I said "He don't talk much, do he?"

"She. And no, not really."

I had almost had enough of this. If they were a couple, I was leaving him and Miss Unpronounceable for the rats to eat, providing I was tall enough to lock the door. Probably not, so I continued on anyway.

"How can you talk to me?" Seemed like a good question at the time, and anything that wasn't relationship based at the moment was good conversation.

"Remember that curse?" No, I completely forgot you freakin' tagged my butt with a demonic enchantment. "It's called 'Curse Of Tounges'. It makes you speak the Demonic language, and we're fluent in it. Well, I am. Fpshk can only speak it, nothing else."

"Okkaayy." We just kinda sat there. What do you talk to a sheep about? How's the weather? Eat any good grass lately? Bit the living crap out of Marshall Dugan in the past half hour?

"Sooo…" he said, starting to get up. "Why are you…intelligent? Any other animal I curse like that usually freaks out and talks in gibberish."

The dam broke. I told him the entire day, step by step, murloc by murloc, crazy marshall by crazy marshall. When I finished, I think he laughed for an entire twenty minutes until I walked up to him and slapped him across the face with one of my legs. There is something humbling in being slapped by a sheep, apparently, because he became his normal, brooding self again.

"Well I guess I could help you out" he said, and my day, for that one instant, was made. "Tomorrow, though." Damnit. "I'm waiting for a package here at the inn. I was going to get a room and the innkeeper told me to get some ale for myself, free of charge. I don't know why he did that." Because you scare the living crap out of anyone who's around you? Present company included? "Let's go ask the innkeeper for a room and tomorrow we'll head out for Stormwind, to the Mage's part of town."

We walked/hopped up the stairs and went up to the front desk. To present oneself to the innkeeper as a dark and spooky man with a demon from hell and a pissed off sheep is not the best way to make friends, and it took a while to persuade him to cough up the key. Unfortunately, what Maur had money-wise was the equivalent to the number of days I've woken up in a jail cell. Thirty-three copper was just under enough for one room.

"Is there some task we can do for you that would pay off the debt?" Maur asked. I, personally, would have threatened him with Fihsky, but then again, I was just a follower for the moment, and Shoulder Blades of Doom was not someone to cross. I then realized the immense irony in all of this, when I remembered my satchel on my belt had contained more than enough for five rooms, and was currently sheepified somewhere to my anatomy, like my armor and sword. If I cut myself and money started pouring out, I would simultaneously bleed to death and greed to death, and neither of those would help us out at the moment.

"Sure" he said, eyeing me. I got scared. "For two sacks of wool."

_HELL no._


	4. Chapter 4

Nuh-uh. None doin', bucko. No one, for any reason, was gonna shear me naked. It was bad enough being a damn sheep. A nude, prancing sheep was right out. Screw that, even if no one would recognize me.

But how do you say no to a warlock and Fido, the Hellhound, particularly when they both seemed intent on removing as much wool from my body as possible? When the innkeeper said "two sacks of wool" I pictured a linen bag or some shiz like that. Nuh-uh. This sucker was friggin' huge. I didn't know if the innkeeper wanted to store wool or was making a circus tent with this thing. We could have lived inside with enough room for all three of us to have suites, a dining room for eleven, a lounge, _and_ a shuffleboard court.

I'm going to gloss over the details. Mostly for my pride. This was _definitely_ not one of my prouder moments, in the cellar of an inn having Maur pin me down and shear off whatever he could get his hands on. I didn't even know the guy, damnit. He might have been friggin' enjoying that. Actually, probably not. I did catch him in the face with my foot, and from that point on he seemed a little disgruntled in his work.

We finally got back to the innkeeper; a warlock bleeding from the nose, one _hell_ of a pissed off naked sheep, and a mutated dog that apparently got run over by a wagon and didn't know it yet. I swear, if he didn't give us the room, the inn would have been leveled to the ground in seconds, and everyone would have left the wreckage carrying whatever viruses were in my bloodstream from my biting frenzy.

I calmed down a bit, after I realized he left me a bit of wool. I wasn't completely pink, but I guess the difference is the same as a regular blouse and a see-through one. Great. A sheep hooker. Baa Baa hangin' around the street corners, lookin' for prospective customers, swinging a purse on a chain. Think about that one and try and sleep tonight.

Trying to get that thought out of my mind, we headed up to our room. If that was a room worth my wool, then I was gonna go feed myself to the murlocs. This sucker had a bed, and that's pretty much it. Not even much floor to damn sleep on. Then I noticed that Fpshiky was snoozed on the foot of the bed, exactly where I intended to sleep. Damnit.

"Hey, Maur?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you wake up Fysh? I was gonna sleep there."

"That's Fpshk. And no, that's not a good idea."

"Oh. Okay." I glanced around for witnesses. None. I moved.

A head butt from a sheep hurts. A head butt from a sheep in the crotch is abysmally painful. Sucker didn't even have enough time to curse me. He fell to the ground, passed out on the floor. I enjoyed a bed to myself that night.

I made sure I woke up before they did. Don't ask me how; maybe I have a sleep-o-meter. I'm not stupid enough to let Hellgirl be the first one to assess the situation and scene. I waddled out of bed, slowly, not to make her _very_ angry, and went down to breakfast. I didn't know if they'd serve a sheep, but I know they'd serve one if said sheep stole the food in question. Hey, what are they gonna do, arrest me?

I didn't get caught, and by the end of breakfast I had made a meal of four bran muffins, six cups of milk, four bowls of oatmeal, nine fried potatoes, and a salad, which I didn't eat too much of. You might think this was a bit much, but remember, my last meal was a Deeprun Rat Kabob. So shut up.

I sat myself under a table, watching the stairs for Maur to come down. I knew he was sissy enough not to cause trouble in the dining room. He came down with Fpshk (I said it right!), looking just as disgruntled as the previous day. Maybe he needed to take more pride in his work.

He saw me. "Damn you."

I smiled sweetly. "Good morning, bozo."

He retuned the smile, weakly. "Fine. I shear you, you neuter me. Even?"

I acted like I was pondering for a moment. "Even." I said. He still had Fippish with him, and seriously, I'm not stupid.

And so we set off for Stormwind City, all 3 of us not quite skipping down the yellow mud road. Wolves, and Bears, and Murlocs, oh my! As I walked (I was getting better at it) down the road with my newfound companions, I felt alright for the first time in a long, long time. I _knew_ things would get better once we reached Stormwind, and the sun would come out to greet us as we were, disgruntled, naked, and confused. Everything would be alright, from now on.

Then it started raining.

And of course, I tripped over my own feet in the mud. Damn.


	5. Chapter 5

Ah, nothing like the smell of wet sheep in the morning. It was really starting to pour, now. And I had just mastered walking on solid ground. Muddy roads, uphill, are not fun for quadrupeds. Imagine walking up a steep hill, tired and exhausted, just to find out one's hooves have the same traction as the underside of a fish. It would have been fun to a little kid, I guess, but when your actually trying to get somewhere, a sheep loaded down with an extra fifty pounds of mud on their stomach has every right to feel a little angst.

"DAMNIT!" I proclaimed to no one in particular. Maur wasn't having much trouble. Neither was Fpshk. This didn't help my mood too much.

Eventually, we got in sight of the friggin' city. Finnaly. The gigantic gate in front of us was a welcome sight. Except for one minor detail.

It was closing.

_Hell_ no.

This little fluff ball went into overdrive. I shredded that road like it was paper, kicking up muck into Maur's face. He didn't move, which is weird, but I swear to the Gods for a moment he looked purple. Not my biggest concern at the moment.

There was no way I was going to make it. I'd have to stay outside all night-maybe forever. Maybe I could join a farm and work for food, selling my wool for profit. Maybe I could just be a drifter. Hey, that might actually be cool. "Drifter Sheep," terror of the highways, robs from the rich and becomes richer. The poor can fend for themselves.

I still wasn't giving up. I was pumped, and very, _very_ pissed. It was in the freaking morning, why shut it? Is the rain going to invade? Why should-

Holy crispy crap-what was that? Someone grabbed my neck and threw me upwards. I landed spread-eagle on the saddle of a horse. Great, I'm being abducted. I friggin' hate this place. Sheepnapping probably wasn't a crime. Maybe Maur would curse him, so he could at least have like-I dunno-two left feet or something. Curse out his tongue? Maybe give him bladder problems forever. What exactly do warlocks do anyway? Wage war…against…locks?

I assessed the situation. Looking around, I guessed that the dude who chucked me was probably Maur. Yep, spookums was definitely in front of me, leaning into the saddle like a racer hopped up on speed potions. I still couldn't find Fpshky, the wonder dog.

Wait.

Where the hell did Maur get a horse?

I looked at my noble steed. Maybe noble is too strong of a word. Its hooves were on fire, and its eyes were alight with a fiery blaze usually associated with my employers. It was probably named something, too-Hyskphump or something like that. Damn demons.

Well, at least we'd probably make the gates before they closed. I relaxed a little. But what right did those damn guards have to shut the gates? I mean, as far as I can tell the biggest threat was that a spooky dude and a disgruntled sheep were threatening to attack with the force of a hundred church mice. Maybe I should actually look _around_ myself, to see if anything else gave them the jibblies.

Left. Nothing. Lookin' good.

Right- Oooh, that's a nice piece of real estate.

Forward? The threat of Maur's backside loomed in front of me.

Backward?

If you didn't see it coming, you need to go hit yourself in the head with a blunt instrument of your choosing. Go ahead, I'll wait. Done? Okay.

Behind us were hundreds-excuse me-_thousands_ of murlocs, bristling with poisonous spears and deadly claws. Oh, my gods, irony will be the death of me yet.

I didn't exactly know what to do. They were definitely gaining on us. Odds were they'd make the gate before we did. After all this time I was about to join Fairyboy the heavenly sheep-gnome in the Land of Oz after all. Kinda grim thoughts. Maur apparently had an idea, 'cause he was doing his look-at-me-I'm-glowing-purple-with-a-weird-ball-over-my-head-spiel. With a way too heroic hand backwards, a giant blue demon resembling an upside down raindrop with arms showed up out of thin air. Good thinking Maur! A distraction!

Then, with another wave backwards, the demon exploded. You idiot Maur! You've screwed us over!

But he was glowing yellow now. A new one on me. As I began to ponder this, a dart from a blowgun passed over my shoulder with a _thwwwppptt_ and bounced off the yellow glow. Oh! He was invincible! That explains it. But then again, _HE'S NOT DAMN DINNER EITHER!_ I began to panic again.

The gates were closer. Like, way closer. So close, that, in fact, if we kept on riding, we'd probably slam into them full speed and get knocked off the bottom bar as our hell horse made it to safety. Yay. About the time I realized this, Maur picked me back up by the scruff of my neck and flung me across the ground, under the bars. I rolled like a friggin' pencil-but I made it under the bars. I even had enough time to watch Maur heroically flip out of his saddle and make it safely under the bars, as the horse dissipated into thin air. Way too action-movie.

We started running across the bridge. Great. They put the moat on the _inside_ of the city. Whoever runs this place needs a swift kick in the groin. Let's build in murloc territory! Why not put all our houses in an easy-to-infiltrate location! Let's hire the loopy guard to patrol Goldshire and warn us if anything happens! Morons.

While running Maur looked at me with a grin, and said through an exasperated voice "We made it!"

I would have smiled back, but at that precise moment the forces of irony took control, and two dozen darts from blowguns slammed into my butt, hurling me off the bridge, with the last thought going through my ever-so confused mind damning he who gave the friggin' fish-dudes legs.


End file.
